


Presence Requested

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars [97]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Chatting & Messaging, Gen, Humor, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24643879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: Gree is summoned to chat for an emergency.  It is, as usual, not particularly relevant to the war.
Series: Soft Wars [97]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683775
Comments: 36
Kudos: 547





	Presence Requested

Gree’s comm chimes once, demure from its discard in a pile of armor plating on one of the briefing room chairs. It’s a trap.

There’s a second chime, a third. The next dozen or so all come give or take a few seconds of difference. It’s already Taungsday on Coruscant, isn’t it? The only chrono he has is on that bracer. He can’t check that and still justify ignoring his comm.

“Is that not important?”

“I’m working up to it,” he snorts. “General,” he adds belatedly. General Unduli shades from concern to peaceable steadiness.

“I’ve found, Commander, that we can never indefinitely ignore our responsibilities. They tend to… fulminate.”

Jedi humor, Gree eventually realized, runs towards dry and understated. It gives him a thrill anymore, makes him feel like the General’s jokes are private ones, carefully shared. All of Green Company thinks the same.

“Agree to disagree,” he jokes back, still a little giddy from the discovery that he _can_. “I’ve found that if you leave this lot alone long enough, they’ll likely work themselves out of whatever crisis they’ve worked themselves into.” A beat, precisely timed for full effect. “I can provide supporting data.”

Barriss giggles and General Unduli’s lips twitch mildly. “Ah, I’d forgotten. Your brothers’ resourcefulness is boundless.”

Gree’s comm spits chimes like it’s gasping for air. “They could use a couple karking boundaries,” he mutters. “Pardon the Kaminoan. Barriss don’t repeat that.”

“I’m _fifteen_ ,” she protests, right on cue. “I can say k-kark if I want to.” Gree and his General exchange a speaking look at that stutter; Barriss flushes a deep olive. Her fingers flash through signs telling him what exactly to holster where, smooth and practiced. In times like this, Gree likes to pretend General Unduli has no knowledge of battlesign. As long as he can maintain that lie, he doesn’t have to space Mack for teaching Barriss things like that. His comm squeals in desperation.

Desperation’s a fitting description.

Gree calculates the odds of this being an actual emergency. Without the one-two beep of an incoming mail with updated orders odds are very low indeed. Near zero, frankly.

He peels himself away from the holotable with its bright-light array of maps to a sudden cascade of muscles complaining at how long he’s spent leaned over it. His back cracks comfortably and both Mirialans wince in their way: General Unduli a worried tightening of her lips, Barriss a full-shouldered flinch. They still haven’t quite gotten used to the tendency of Human joints to… crackle, occasionally. They’ve stopped hauling him in for scans each time, at least, Thank Fox’s Bit of the Force that lets him shoot assholes.

There’s dozens of missed priority messages flashing. Another spit of alerts and the missed message counter flips to a damning 50+. There’s an accusing 7 flashing red below that, where Gree’s name in particular was mentioned.

“May the Force be with you,” the General intones in perfect Jedi blankness. Barriss smirks, taps her wrist. Comediennes both.

“I’m going to step outside to deal with this sirs,” he sighs. “I have the feeling if I stay Barriss’ language skills will get very educated very quick.”

“I’m _fifteen_ _Gree_ ,” Barriss starts and is neatly overtaken by the General’s ‘your discretion does you credit.’ The door sweeps closed on the briefing room and the last of Gree’s reasonable excuses for putting this off. He slides his bracer into place, dawdles a little fiddling with the straps and catches, then finally bites the bolt.

Priority Alert

Ponds: Hey everybody! Throw me your schedule, we’re trying to get a party going!

Priority Response

Cody: ‘All Hands’ and ‘Submit current assignments’. For Force’s sake Ponds. Following messaging protocol is _not_ difficult.

50+ missed messages

Priority Response

Fox: Gree. Gree fucking respond.

Priority Response

Fox: Gree I’m going to need to know the best way to dispose of an entire company without getting caught.

Priority Response

Fox: Or failing that an airtight alibi.

Priority Response

Fox: Gree these fuckers want to have fleet week on my planet.

Priority Response

Fox: _Torrent Company_ thinks it’s a good fucking idea to have fleet week _on my planet_.

Priority Response

Rex: All I said was it's the most logical choice. There’s already infrastructure in place for room and board.

Priority Response

Fox: You want to argue logic with me fucker? How about ‘when I fucking murder every single one of your spawn the replacement process will put undue strain on Republic resources’. How’s that for fucking logic?

Priority Response

Fox: Gree.

Priority Response

Fox: _Gree_.

P riority Response

Fox: Gree. Get your head out of your General’s skirts.

Priority Response

Gree: Tread very carefully vod. You’re rapidly becoming my third favorite batcher.

Priority Response

Colt: Oh good, I still exist then.

Priority Response

Gree: Correct. And now I love you more than Fox.

Priority Response

Gree: Neyo. I’m readopting you. You’re second.

Priority Response

Neyo: Oh _do_ they know it’s Life Day.

Priority Response

Fox: Two million of these fuckers pissing all over my planet, Gree.

Priority Response

Gree: 1.837 million. As of the last Weekly Action Report.

Priority Response

Fox: I was about to call you a fucking nerd but I still need your brain to logic up why this is a fucking terrible idea.

Priority Response

Gree: And I severely doubt it’ll be anywhere close to that number at once.

Priority Response

Cody: Gree’s right. Fleet Week is a misnomer. It would need to be multiple weeks, with rotations of battalions.

Priority Response

Fox: Those words? I hate every fucking one of those words. Where the fuck are you, you shit. I wanna talk.

Priority Response

Ponds: Prayer Circle for Cody.

Priority Response

Rex: Prayer Circle for Fox you mean.

Priority Response

Bly: Has anyone looked at having different weeks in different locations? Make some of the birther planets Feel Like They’re Contributing?

Priority Response

Fox: Fucking sith lord’s single fucking wrinkled left ball Gree, _this_ is the kind of fucking support I needed from you and I have to get it from one of the uppity shit’s little cloth-touchers? You are fucking demoted to youngest, effective yesterday.

Priority Response

Gree: I love all my brothers. Colt. Neyo. There’s a smudge here. I think it says ‘Fucks’.

Priority Response

Vaughn: I didn’t know you had batchers Commander!

Priority Response

Neyo: I don’t. I’ve never seen them before in my life.

Priority Response

Colt: Did you ever get that one mole in that one spot removed, Ney’ika?

Priority Response

Bacara: No. He’s decided to complain about it for years instead.

Priority Response

Cody: Bacara, Neyo, Jet, Keller, private chat please. I’d like to talk about what we can do for you and your men.

Priority Response

Bacara: Commander Faie just arrived this side.

Priority Response

Cody: Faie too then.

Priority Response

Doom: Don’t worry everyone. I’m still fighting the war for us. You gentlemen just carry on. As you were. But if one or two of you could deign to give me a hand with this whole giant enemy army, I’d be obliged.

Priority Response

Hunter: Understood. CF99 is currently on stand-by, what’s your location?

Priority Response

Fox: Fuck. Fuck someone grab the baby before he stupids.

Priority Response

Ponds: Stop cursing in front of the Sgts!

Priority Response

Fox: Captains are okay now though?

Priority Response

Rex: Private chat Hunter.

They’d have sorted it out without him, Gree sighs in fond exasperation. And he’d have saved himself some insults as well.

Priority Response

Fox: Signing off before anyone else vomits more _ GOBI _1 over my fucking comm. Gree, Colt, don’t die. Neyo do whatever. The rest of you go drown.

Priority Response

Ponds: Remind Blockade that I have a nicer desk for him when you get to be too much bother to handle.

Priority Response

Fox: Please get karked.

Ten minutes of his life drained away, he thinks and he’s grinning as he does. Doom’s right, the war won’t fight itself, but maybe these interludes make the fighting a little easier to take.

When he goes back, the maps don’t swim as much in front of his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. General Officer's Bright Idea. Back  
> 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I Got Nothing but Dreams Inside](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25921171) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




End file.
